I haven’t got a story. All I have to show is a broken life with shattered pieces littering the floor in my wake. My father told me I needed to write everything down, said it would clear my mind. All it’s done is cloud it with all of the things that have gone wrong. I’m not strong, not anymore. I’m broken. The world broke me. Wherever I go, death follows. I’m the girl with the dead boyfriend. The girl with the dead sister. Dead mother. Dead family. All they did was try to save me and all I did was watch the light fade from their eyes. Is there a way to be forgiven for all that I have done to get here?
Maybe one day, when all of this is said and done.
Maybe one day, when I can make all of the wrongs into rights.
Maybe one day, when all the power I never wanted could be used for good. When I can be good.
I’ve been told that everything happens for a reason, but why do bad things happen to good people? I never wanted any of this to happen, I never wanted to be responsible for all the deaths littered around me.
Yet here we are. Everyone is looking at me to save the world. To be a hero. I’m no hero. I never was. I don’t know how to control or how to do good by anyone. All I know is that I can destroy without a single thought. I can destruct without breaking a sweat. And I’m not afraid of the blackness that may follow.
And that terrifies me.